


Magnificent Spectacular Days

by grammarglamour



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Gay, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-13 12:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grammarglamour/pseuds/grammarglamour
Summary: Clay and Tony are getting married.





	1. Something Old

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm normally a cynical old bastard, but sometimes when I write, I like to play a game called "Just Say Yes." When I play "Just Say Yes," I don't tell myself no when writing. I let myself write whatever impractical foolishness comes to my head. In this case, I wrote Clay and Tony's dream wedding. Enjoy the fruits of my indulgent labor. Please leave kudos and comments.

Something Old

Clay awoke the morning before his wedding alone in bed. He rolled over and reached his arm out, feeling for Tony. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, took a deep breath. Whatever had Tony up this early better be damn good, and since Clay didn’t smell bacon or coffee, he knew it wasn’t breakfast. That fact alone made him grumpy.

He got up, pulled on a t-shirt, wandered into the bathroom and peed while thinking that maybe he’d just go back to bed. But, no, he wanted to clean up the house before they left for the coast, and they were going over to his parents’ house for dinner.  

Wandering into the kitchen, he heard the unmistakable sound of tinkering coming from the driveway. Rerouting himself, he stepped into the garage instead, into the flood of morning light from the open door, and saw Tony immersed in something under the hood of the Mustang.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep.”

“Did you eat yet?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure--”

“Yes, Jesus, Clay.”

“Chill, damn.”

Clay slammed the door and went into the kitchen. He knew it was just nerves, but like they weren’t both drowning in it? Whatever, let him stew. Clay wanted coffee, so he made some, and sat at their kitchen table to drink it while scrolling through his various newsfeeds. He was halfway into his first cup when Tony clambered in, washed his hands, and poured himself a cup of coffee, too.

“The car is fine,” he said, leaning against the counter.

“That’s good.”

“I just…wanted to make sure before we went to the coast.”

“Gotcha. Good idea.”

“I’m sorry I snapped.”

Clay shrugged. “We’re both nervous.”

Tony went over to him and kissed him sweetly. “You put up with a lot from me.”

“Well, I’m not exactly Bob Ross over here.”

“You have a point.”

Clay smiled, even though he was still a little miffed. But he tried to let it go, chalking the whole thing up to wedding jitters and knowing that bigger things were at stake.

They drank their coffee as they did so many mornings, but this was the last day they would be doing so as boyfriends. After tomorrow, they would be husbands. That part thrilled Clay. The nerves crept in when he thought about all the things that could go wrong, and he _knew_ that was a terrible path to go down, but these thoughts just seemed to appear unbidden in his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“More like the devalued currency of some developing nation,” Clay said.

“Damn. You okay?”

Clay sighed and stared into his coffee cup. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

“So don’t,” Tony said.

“Come on—”

Tony held up a hand. “I know, I know. It’s not that easy. I get it. If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t go through with it if I thought you were gonna fuck it up.”

“That is strangely comforting,” Clay said, smiling in spite of himself. “What _were_ you doing to the car, anyway?”

Tony shrugged. “Making sure it would get us to the coast.”

Clay knew damn well that it would. It hadn’t missed an oil change or a check-up since it had been in Tony’s care. But that was Tony. He might not talk about it, but tinkering with the car, weeding the yard, or doing odd fixes around the house meant that something was bothering him. Clay didn’t press further.

***

That evening, they went to Clay’s parents’ house for a rehearsal dinner of sorts, just the grooms, both sets of parents, and Skye, who would be officiating the wedding.

Before dinner, while their mothers talked in the kitchen and their dads bonded over grilling, they sat in the living room with Skye to talk about what they would do for the ceremony. They decided not to appoint any groomsmen, lest it cause any rifts among who was selected and who was not.

Over glasses of wine, they talked, and Clay marveled at the woman Skye had become. She was as bold and confident as she had been in high school, but softened by years of college, creating art, and learning that high school is not the sum of all human experience. She carried herself straight and upright, a woman of strength and conviction. He envied her, if he was honest, for her prepossession, her way of facing the world without fear. She had had one or two episodes since high school in which she had gone off medication, but those incidents were few and long in the past by then.

“So, I’ll just say my general vows, and then you guys say your own spiels, and then we call it a day and go party. How does that sound?” she asked.

“Sounds like a plan,” Tony said.

“Do you want to practice reading what you wrote?”

“I’ve, uh, been practicing in front of the bathroom mirror,” Clay confessed.

“I’ve been practicing in the shop when no one is there,” Tony added.

They were both tinged slightly red, casting sheepish smiles at each other. Skye shook her head. “You two are the biggest nerds I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t doubt that a bit,” Tony said.

Clay’s mom announced dinner, and they all moved into the dining room. The table had been set with the rarely-used “good plates” and silverware, the ones they only brought out for occasions like this. Clay had never quite understood the purpose of having plates you never used that collected dust in a cabinet, but he was fine not understanding it. Certain things passed him by, and that was fine, because his head was full enough with worries and over-thinking already. A few candles set the mood, along with low lighting, a grown-up and intimate feel. It struck him then that he was now an adult. He wanted this wedding more than anything, but a sadness suffused it, as he knew now that he could never go back to childhood or adolescence. He stood in the doorway of a new phase in his life. At least he had someone to walk through it with.

His mom stood up, and Clay’s heart clenched inside his chest. What the hell embarrassing thing was she about to say? Still trim and wound tight, she was a wild card in any situation like this. She raised her glass and started talking. Clay held his breath.

“I just want to take this opportunity to welcome the Padilla family into ours – officially! You’ve been a part of our family unofficially for so long, and I am glad we live in a time when you can become a part of it legally as well. I’m so proud of Clay and Tony for making a home and a life together. They do each other good, and I’m looking forward to many more years of watching them grow.” She raised her glass higher and concluded her toast with a long sip. The rest of them followed suit, and murmured words of thanks and agreement.

Clay nodded along, hating to admit that his mom’s words touched him, but they did. Tears prickled at his eyes and his throat felt tight. “Thanks, Mom,” he croaked.

She reached over to him and squeezed his hand.

Seeing Tony’s parents interact with his own parents never ceased to amuse Clay. Worlds collided when the blue-collar Padillas met the ivy-league Jensens. Arturo was wildly more conservative than either of them, which had led to more than one backyard barbecue argument, and Elena was hard-headed and practical to a fault. Generally, the men folk had taken to talking about lawn care and sports (Clay’s dad had started following soccer just to avoid discussions about social issues). The women folk exchanged recipes and talked about their children. He wished that it could be a little less stereotypical, but he figured they did both like to cook and they loved their kids. If that was what brought them together, far be it from Clay to trample all over it. Their respective adjusted in order to meet one another where they were, rather than in order to appease anyone. It was a matter of figuring out what they had in common rather than focusing on what set them apart.

After dinner, Clay’s mom sent them home with leftovers and a barrage of questions and advice about the upcoming wedding, everything from setting clothes out to double- and triple-checking the event hall for the reservation. Everything she suggested he do, he had already done, but he didn’t tell her that, instead letting her go on and fawn over him a little. As he knew this day was a watershed moment in his adult life, he was acutely aware what that must mean for his mom, who still thought of him as the same pale, skinny mop-headed child he had been.

Finally, she let them go home, tears streaming down her cheeks like they were headed off to war instead of their cozy little house.

“Your mom has no chill,” Tony said.

“I’m pretty sure she looks down on the concept of chill,” Clay said, peeking under the tinfoil to check out the leftover situation. Those might not survive the night.

Tony snorted out a laugh and kept driving.

Back home, they stowed the leftovers in the fridge and headed to their bedroom. Neither of them was tired, but they got ready for bed anyway and just lay together in darkness and silence. Clay budged up against Tony, head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and stroking his soft skin.

They had opened the bedroom window a crack, and cool early summer air blew in carrying the scent of cut grass and saltwater with it. Perfect for burrowing deep into the comforter and up against one another.

“Your mom’s hovering aside, is everything ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Clay said. “I worry almost as much as she does, so I checked on everything the other day. It’s fine.”

“Good.”

“Did you ever think, back in high school, that we’d be lying in bed together talking about our wedding?”

Tony laughed. “I definitely hoped we’d end up in bed together. The wedding thing is just a bonus.”

Clay sat up. “What? Really?”

“Oh yeah. Big time.”

“Well, I’m flattered.”

“You should be. I’m very selective.”

“Uh, if I remember correctly, you dated Ryan Shaver at one point?”

“Okay, well, my dick wasn’t so selective.”

“Mine always was. Only the best. We have looked out for each other pretty well.”

“Yes you have.” He kissed Clay slow and deep, comfortably, unhurriedly. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

“Does it bother you that I’m also attracted to women?” Clay asked.

“Why would it bother me?”

Clay shrugged. “I don’t know. Like, I guess it’s like, bi guys have this reputation for settling for dudes until they find a woman or whatever.”

“I’m pretty sure you aren’t marrying me just to bide your time,” Tony said, looking at Clay like he was afraid he had a concussion. “Anyway, sometimes I look at other guys. Does that bother you?”

“Like who?”

“Luis the UPS driver is pretty cute. That one waiter at the diner, you know, the guy with the gauges in his ears? Um, there was a cute guy at the Wal-Plex—”

“Damn,” Clay said. “Well, you’re not gonna leave me for some random dude at the Wal-Plex are you?”

“Probably not. Unless I ever run into Timothee Chalamet there, in which case, all bets are off.”

“Okay, for one thing, if you ever run into Timothee Chalamet at the Wal-Plex, you damn well better share.”

“Noted.”

“And…I don’t know, I guess it’s just the risk for everyone.”

“Sure, but don’t worry about it, okay? What I have with you, that’s more important than a quick tumble with someone new. I trust you, and you know how much that means,” Tony assured him.

Tony had this way about him, that calm assertiveness, that calmed Clay down without making him feel stupid. With his weird worries and his constant over-thinking, it would be easy to laugh at him, and Tony didn’t do that. Well, most of the time. But if he did laugh at Clay’s neuroses, he at least was kind about it.

“Have you really been practicing your vows in the shop when no one’s there?”

“Yeah. Have you really been practicing in front of the mirror?”

“Yeah. Yours is cuter though. I like imagining you telling some engine part that you’ll love and protect it or whatever.”

“Okay, maybe,” Tony conceded. “I will definitely love and protect you. That isn’t in what I wrote, but it’s true. You know that, right? Ever since – ever since—”

“The tapes.”

Tony simply nodded. All these years later, they still couldn’t really talk about them. They had before, in halting fits and starts, dancing around it and clearing the air, but they didn’t make a habit out of it.

“Anyway, I always wanted to protect you. You needed it during high school, and after that, even then I could just see it rolling off you sometimes, this…call of the void, you know? I was never worried that you – that I’d lose you like that, or anything, but I sort of knew I had to be a certain way with you. And I liked that, because no one else expected it from me except you. To everyone else, I was some tough guy. But you saw through it, Clay.”

He ran his hand through Tony’s hair, which he had long since stopped styling so painstakingly. These days he just let it do its thing, and he was sexier for it. Clay loved running his fingers through it, so thick and textured. It was just wavy enough to give a Tony a softened air, which suited him.

“Thank you. One thing I always knew about you was that you were tough, but only in defense of people you loved. I couldn’t see you doing anything violent just for the sake of it. And to me, that said you needed protecting, too. You needed someone to see that in you,” Clay said.

“I’m glad it was you.

Clay kissed him, stroked the side of his face and his bare shoulders. “Let’s go to sleep. We have to get married tomorrow.”

“Can’t think of a better way to spend a day,” Tony said.

They fell asleep entwined, bare and innocent as the night air rolled in the open window. Clay dreamed of flowers and sunlit days, hurried but not panicking, some kind of maze or treasure hunt.


	2. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets ready for the wedding.

Something New

 

The day of his wedding, Tony woke up at four in the morning. They didn’t have to be to the event space for another twelve hours, and he immediately wondered what on earth he was supposed to do for that time. He awoke with the anticipation he always felt before traveling, that sense that all he should do is go straight to the airport and wait. Yeah, it was that, magnified by a thousand. Obviously, that wouldn’t do, not least because Clay was still asleep and he could hardly show up to the wedding venue without his husband.

Husband.

Not for the first time in the last few months, Tony rolled the word around in his head. He stood in their kitchen (a “one butt kitchen,” so said his mother, referring to its narrowness and the fact it could only accommodate one person cooking at a time – it was definitely a slight) and made some coffee, thinking about the gravity and responsibility contained in that word. Clay had no expectations of him. He had his own career and could do for himself with no problem. But Tony had expectations of himself, of what a husband should be – even if he was married to another guy. Provider. Protector. All these words his father taught him and his brothers. They stuck with Tony, traditions from “the old country,” these ideas that his father brought with him from Mexico, ideas about what a man does for his family. Even if Clay didn’t know or care about these things, Tony did.

He took his thoughts and his coffee to the living room and sat on the couch with every intention of working through both. It didn’t happen that way, though. Next thing he knew, Clay was tiptoeing around the living room and trying to put a blanket over him.

“Sorry,” Clay whispered. “I tried not to wake you up.”

Tony sat up, rubbed his eyes, worked out the kinks in his back and neck. “No, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Seven.” Clay settled next to him on the couch and pulled Tony down so that his head was in Clay’s lap. He ran his hands through Tony’s hair and over his shoulders. The touch melted away tension he didn’t even realize he had been holding and his toes twitched in response.

Golden summer light streamed in the window and bathed the room in its glow. Tony couldn’t help but feel it was some kind of blessing. He hoped it was, anyway.

“What are we even supposed to do until the wedding?” Tony asked.

Clay laughed. “I wondered the same thing. I think we just hang out until it’s time to go and make sure we have our suits so we don’t get married in our pajamas.”

“My mother would kill me if I walked down the aisle in pajamas. Dead, gone.” He cut his hand through the air for emphasis, miming his mother striking him down.

“Mine would be more passive aggressive about it, but still just as angry. Not to mention Skye, who would consider it an affront to her photography skills for ruining the pictures.”

“Well, you look so goddamn sexy in your suit, I would be pretty bummed too.”

“I look sexy in my suit?” Clay leaned down and kissed Tony on the lips.

“In your birthday suit,” Tony said.

“Oh god, that was bad,” Clay groaned, swatting him playfully on the arm.

“I know.” Tony sat up. “Let’s forget it and make breakfast. Something ridiculous, like waffles with whipped cream.”

“Good call.”

 They sprang off the couch and into the kitchen. Within moments, their laziness dissipated as they messily made waffles and tried to negotiate a one-butt kitchen with two butts. At least Clay’s didn’t take up much space.

Tony tried to let the silliness and fun wash over him, tried not to be anxious and brooding. Outwardly, he supposed he succeeded. He laughed along with Clay, enthusiastically participated in whipped cream shenanigans, and after a while, he hardly felt it at all. Instead, he knew that this – making waffles and laughing at cat videos, as Clay was doing while they ate – would be his life from now on. This was what he had, and he didn’t need to worry about the baggage. There was no baggage, just waffles in front of him and a suit waiting for him upstairs.

 

***

 

Later at the wedding venue, Tony’s earlier moment of Zen had ended, and he paced around the dressing room and checked the clock for what seemed like the hundredth time. Only a few more minutes had passed since the last one, yet the interval had seemed so much longer.

He was wearing his suit, a classic cut dark brown one with a taupe shirt and sage green tie. It wasn’t anything too terribly fancy, but it fit well and he felt worthy of the ceremony he was waiting so anxiously for.

The event hall had two dressing rooms, though Tony knew he and Clay could have shared. And it wasn’t as though it was bad luck for one groom to see the other in his suit, or at least he figured as much. Anyway, they had gone suit shopping together and he knew exactly what Clay was wearing – a dark blue suit with a pale blue shirt and gray tie. Clay favored a slim cut, though he was so skinny it just looked normal. Tony’s mom had tried fattening Clay up over the years, to no avail, though Tony had gained a few pounds.

He tried sitting in one of the chairs strewn about, left empty as his brothers had made their way outside to mingle and probably smoke some weed. He had half an hour left, and then he and Clay would be meeting to walk down the aisle together. This thought made it impossible to enjoy sitting, so he jumped up and went back to pacing. A gentle knock on the door nearly had him jumping out of his skin, but he managed a strangled “Come in!” when he recovered.

“You okay in here, mijo?”

His dad, wearing the same suit Tony had seen for every wedding, graduation, baptism, and funeral he’d ever been to. There was something comforting about it, out-of-style and ill-fitting as it was.

“Fine, Dad. I mean, nervous as hell and feeling like time is standing still, but like, other than that, just fine.”

His dad nodded. “I know it ain’t the same, but when I married your mother—”

 

“It’s the same, Dad. I love Clay as much as you love Mom.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know you love Clay. It ain’t the same because I was so much younger than you when we got married, and even though I love your mama more than anything, we did it because it was expected. We had been seeing each other for maybe a year before we got married. It was the right thing to do, but we didn’t know each other like you and Clay do,” his dad said.

Tony immediately felt foolish for being so defensive. His dad had always been supportive, in his way. To Arturro Padilla, machismo meant providing for one’s family, loving your kids no matter what, revering your wife for the work she did raising the kids and running the house. It wasn’t about power. If anything, it was an abdication of power. This brand of manhood meant that he put aside his wants and his selfishness for his family. Maybe it was because he was from Mexico, and he was raising Americans, but Tony knew that for his dad, the family’s comfort came first. Still, he knew his dad didn’t understand the gay thing. To him, being gay was an American invention, and had they still been in Mexico, Tony would have been straight. He had tried to explain to his dad so many times that there were gay people in Mexico and there always had been. He tried to talk about Frida Kahlo’s dalliances with women. “It’s different for women,” Dad had said. Tony gave up at that point. Still, he treated Clay the same as he treated Mariana’s boyfriends, except he did press Clay into helping him with yard work more. That was probably a trust thing, though. Mariana did okay when it came to choosing guys, but none of them had been around long enough to prove they could mow straight lines into the yard.

Tony just nodded in his stupidity.

His dad came up close to him, straightened Tony’s tie, and cleared his throat. “I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, I know. You and Clay, you’re smart guys, you done well. Nice house, good-looking yard. You do for yourselves, and that’s important. But, well—” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small burgundy velvet pouch. “Look, I know you ain’t religious like me and your mama are, but my papa got me one of these when I got married, and I got one for Julio when he got married.”

He reached in the pouch and pulled out a small, delicate cross necklace. It wasn’t ostentatious at all, and very small, but that was the point. Jesus had said not to make a big deal out of one’s religion. He had said that it was to be humble. His dad’s fingers, rough and swollen from years of working on cars, looked incongruous holding the fine gold necklace.

Tears prickled at Tony’s eyes, all the emotion of the past couple days springing out, and he pulled his dad close, held onto him for dear life, and sobbed.

“Calm down, mijo, it’s just a necklace,” he joked.

Tony choked out a laugh.

“No, I understand,” his dad went on. “It’s emotional. You have a responsibility to someone now. And religious or not, even if you don’t believe it’s blessed by God or whatever, it’s something. It’s bigger than just dating someone. You’re all in now.”

“I know, Dad. You’re right. And God – I don’t know anything about God – but I do know that I want to do right by Clay. Doing right by him is doing right by me, too.” He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes.

His dad reached in his pocket and pulled out a small pack of tissues. “Your mama gonna be a mess today. Guess you are, too.”

Tony plucked a tissue from the pack and smiled.

“It’s okay. It’s good to cry sometimes.”

From outside, Tony heard the first strains of “This Must Be The Place” by The Talking Heads – that was their “everybody get in their places” song. He took a deep breath.

“Here we go.”

His dad held out his arm, and Tony took it, allowed himself to be walked outside and deposited at the end of the aisle where Clay already stood. Relief cascaded over his face as he saw Tony.

He hadn’t expected him to, but his dad walked him right up to Clay before letting go of his arm and patting him on the back.

The sun was shining, bright and not too hot, illuminating the scene around them in rich yellow light. Clay had those small tells of nervousness that a casual observer might not notice: a pattern of shifting his feet ever so slightly, licking his lips subtly, and then squeezing his clasped hands together. Tony took Clay’s arm and they joined hands.

“Think I wasn’t gonna show?” he whispered to Clay.

“Not for a second.”

The song changed – “Mystery of Love” by Sufjan Stevens – and Skye rose from a seat at the end of the front row to take her place under the white canopy, the small dais where she would officiate the ceremony.

“Let’s get married,” Tony whispered.

“Good idea.”

They walked down the aisle, flanked by seats filled with both sets of parents, Tony’s many siblings and cousins, both men’s grandparents, and the few remaining high school friends they still had. Justin was there, of course. Alex. Zach. A few college friends and friends they had in town had also turned out for the occasion. Everyone he loved and cared about was there, showed up for him, wanted to celebrate as he married the nerdiest, kindest, strongest, most anxious man in the universe.

“You ready?” Skye asked, smiling, as they stood before her.

“Absolutely,” they replied in unison.


	3. Borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally: The ceremony and the reception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for confusing anyone, but I changed the name of the series as a whole. I wrote something in this chapter that made a much better title, so I went with it. Thanks for reading! Tell your friends!

Something Borrowed

 

Clay’s mom was fretting. Hard. Fretting like he had rarely seen her. Impressively fretting. Clay himself was no picture of calm, but his mother was truly outshining him in the fretting department. Her hands seemed incapable of resting on one surface, one moment brushing off imaginary crumbs from the table, another fiddling with Clay’s tie or his hair. They were in the dressing room at the small event hall where he and Tony would be getting married. He was trying to have some compassion for his mom, because he knew she worried about anything and everything, but damn. She was tap-dancing on his last good nerve.

“Do you have tissues?”

“Why do I need tissues?”

“In case you cry!”

“The ceremony is only going to be, like, half an hour. If I do cry, I’ll only be up there for a few minutes getting snot all over myself.”

“Take a damn tissue.” She thrust a couple in his pocket and he let her.

Skye, a flower tucked behind her ear, had been standing in the doorway looking obnoxiously amused, but she finally swallowed her smile and came into the room.

“Mrs. Jensen? Everyone’s starting to get seated. You want me to show you to your seat?”

“Skye! Yes, that’s a good idea – unless – Clay, honey will you be okay in here? Should I have your dad come in? Or…someone?”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m just marrying Tony, not a member of the royal family.”

Which was entirely for the best. He would take Tony’s earnestness and love of soccer any day over the pomp and circumstance of royalty.

Skye ushered his mom out, nodding sympathetically as she fretted over finding her seat. His mother’s departure lifted the air in the room. She took her anxiety with her, a heavy presence that she carried into most situations. Clay breathed deeply in its absence. He had his share of anxiety, but nothing like her. The silence settled around the room, peaceful and light. He sat in one of the chairs and enjoyed a moment of quiet solitude.

In fifteen minutes, he would be standing with Tony in front of everyone. Skye would use the power vested in her to declare them husbands, and they would be joined together in holy matrimony. The prospect flooded him with emotions: fear that he wouldn’t be a good spouse, elation that he had found such an incredible partner, relief that his relationship could be recognized. All of these formed necessary feelings, signs that he took this seriously.

The sound of the door snapped him to attention. Skye entered, looking rather pleased with herself.

“Your mom is now fiddling with a batch of discarded flowers. I didn’t tell her they were discards. Just let her go at it. She thinks they’re super important.” She flopped down in a seat next to him, her flowing black skirt dipping onto the floor.

“How did you get to be so smart?”

“Spent a lot of time in the nut house. I know how to deal with crazy people.”

He nodded, never sure what to say when anyone exhibited such bald-faced honesty, least of all when Skye did it. He had been in the thick of it with her, and even though he understood now that he had nothing to do with various breaks and episodes, that realization had been hard-won and taken a long time. Obviously, they still cared about each other – she was officiating his wedding, after all – but she threw him off-balance more than once.

“Thank you for being here,” he said, putting his arm around her. She smelled like cinnamon and patchouli.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Even if it’s weird?”

“It’s not weird. It’s a rite of passage for a woman to watch her high school boyfriend marry another dude.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “Glad I could be of service.”

“Seriously, though, you were ever mine. Never even Hannah’s. Something about you _began_ when you and Tony got together.”

“It really did.”

Hannah. He didn’t think about her as much as he used to, and he never thought that would happen. She had been so constant, so oppressive, for such a long time that it felt eternal.

He thought back to the school dance when he averted a mass shooting. A moment had gotten lost in the fray, and he hadn’t remembered it until days later, when the dust began settling: They played that song, that one he danced to with Hannah, and he had stood there, sort of immobilized by grief, and Tony came up to him. Tony left his date and comforted Clay. He held him gently, closed around him completely, and Clay had felt peace for the briefest interval. They didn’t get together for another several months, but if he had to pinpoint it, that was really when it started.

“It’s almost time.”

They stood and hugged. The voluminous bell sleeves of her blouse wrapped around Clay, comforting and warm. That smell, the clean perfume oil smell of earth, wafted up to him again. Her rings clinked as she let him go and stroked his face.

“Thank you, Skye, seriously.”

“I’d say ‘any time,’ but honestly, I hope you and Tony are together forever.”

“Me too.” He smiled.

The first song started up outside. Skye kissed him on the cheek and said, “We better head out.” She plucked the flowers from her hair and set the stem through the hole in Clay’s lapel.

“Jesus, Skye, are these oleander?”

She smiled wickedly. “Yeah. Don’t eat them.”

Once outside, she deposited him at the aisle and went to sit next to his parents. A moment of blind, irrational panic seized him. _What if Tony didn’t come?_ Clay fidgeted nervously, unable to shake the thought, even as the rational part of his brain was screaming at him for being so stupid. But then Tony came outside, arm-in-arm with his dad, looking nervous but determined. Close up, Clay saw his eyes were red. Tears of joy, he hoped.

“Think I wasn’t gonna show?”

“Not for a second.” Maybe just, like, half a second. But not a whole one. He didn’t tell Tony that.

“Mystery of Love” began and Skye floated over to the canopy where she would perform the ceremony.

“Let’s get married,” Tony whispered, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Good idea.”

Any nerves dissipated as he and Tony walked down that aisle together. He clutched Tony’s hand tighter, moving confidently up the aisle where Skye awaited them, smiling. She looked so beautiful and mysterious in her flowing skirt and blouse, her rough edges sanded down to a maturing beauty. She had only gotten ordained through one of those online things, but to Clay, she looked like she could be the high priestess of an ancient religion.

“You ready?” she asked as they reached her.

“Absolutely,” they answered together.

She nodded and looked up. “We are gathered here to watch these two handsome gentlemen join together in matrimony,” she began, addressing the crowd. “They already share so much. A home. Their families. I’m honored to stand up here and bless the union of Antonio Carlos Gutierrez Padilla and Clay Matthew Jensen.”

She turned her attention to Tony. “Antonio Carlos Gutierrez Padilla, do you take Clay Matthew Jensen to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

Tony’s voice cracked as he nodded and said, “I do.”

“And Clay Matthew Jensen, do you take Antonio Carlos Gutierrez Padilla to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“Yes, I do,” he said, squeezing Tony’s hand.

“And you both wrote something, correct?”

They looked at each other and nodded. Tony pulled his hand away and reached in his pants pocket, pulled out a small index card, and cleared his throat. He glanced down at the card, then up at Clay. Upon looking at Clay, his face seemed to relax, the tension melting away. Clay felt like he was the only person there in the little field outside the event hall.

“So, it’s pretty well established that I’m not the words guy,” Tony began. “I’ll keep this brief. But, Clay, if anyone makes me want to push myself and do things I normally wouldn’t – like get up in front of a few dozen people and talk – it’s you. You make me want to be the best person I can be, the person you know I can be. You see the best in me, and I want to live up to that. But you know, even if I didn’t, you’d still love me. It would all be okay. And that means a lot to me. So, thank you. For everything. I love you.”

Clay was fighting back tears, and he didn’t want to vindicate his mom by pulling out a tissue, but he had to. He hazarded a glance over to her, and she looked far too pleased with herself. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes, fishing out an index card from his pants pocket as well.

“I guess by contrast, I am the words guy,” he said, smiling. Tony smiled back. “I’ll keep it brief, too, because what else can I say? You have been a constant in my life for almost ten years. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have by my side than you, someone who fights for what he believes in and pushes me in all the best ways. When you love, you love completely. You put people first, and you know what’s right. You _do_ what’s right. I love you, too, and I’m excited to spend my life with you.”

Tony had stood there completely still, hands folded in front of him, looking down like he was praying. He nodded when Clay finished speaking, a tear dropping down and catching in the sunlight as he did. Clay handed him the tissue he’d been holding, and Tony wiped his eyes.

“Thank you both. Now, with the power vested in me by the internet and the state of California…I pronounce you legally wed. Congratulations.”

They hugged each other close, Clay breathing in that familiar scent of Tony, a scent that had come to mean home to him. They parted enough to kiss, and though it wasn’t exactly salacious, Clay felt a certain electricity between them, some new spark.

As they turned and walked back down the aisle, off in the distance, Clay saw _her_. Of course, it wasn’t really her, but…somehow it was. As beautiful as she had been in life – always with the longer hair and never the short – she stood and watched. He hadn’t seen her since that day he spoke at her memorial. She wore a gauzy white dress, her hair fluttering in the breeze, and she looked on serenely, smiling enigmatically as she always did. She looked straight at Clay, and nodded, raised her hand in salutation, and then…disappeared.

“You okay?” Tony asked.

Clay furrowed his brow, nodded, remembered to smile. He put his arm around Tony and said, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He had little time to ruminate on his newfound okay-ness, though, because Tony’s brother Julio – a nearly exact copy of Tony, but paunchier and with dark brown eyes – intercepted them and pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket.

“Mi hermanos,” he said. “Welcome to the wonderful world of being married.”

Julio handed the flask to Tony, who took a significant pull.

“Goddamn, that’s good,” he said.

“It’s a special occasion,” Julio said by way of explanation.

Clay braced himself, as he knew even good tequila was like fire going down, and there was no doubt about what was in the flask. Sure enough, Tony handed him the flask and the smoky-sweet smell emanated from it. Well, he figured, down the hatch.

To his delight and surprise, the tequila was actually smooth. He had found, in the past – and by now he had some experience with tequila – that Tony and his brothers’ ideas about smoothness and drinkability were vastly different than his own. But this was the real deal, no bottom-shelf grocery store stuff.

“Holy shit,” Clay said.

“Don’t be shy, hermano,” Julio said. “You only get married once. Hopefully.”

Clay took another pull from the flask, that alcohol warmth spreading to his arms and fingertips, making him feel comfortably heavy. “Hopefully.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Tony said, plucking the flask from Clay’s fingers. He took another long pull.

“Aye, Julio, don’t get these boys drunk too early,” Elena admonished, bustling toward them, an apron over her church dress.

“Oh come on. They’re not total lightweights.”

That was not entirely true, and Clay felt himself already swaying ever so slightly as he stood, but he knew he’d be fine if he stopped for a while, which he would do. He wanted to remember this day.

Elena shepherded them to a patio. Seemingly by magic, long tables had been set out, each one laden with copious amounts of food. At the very end, a massive cake that would have fed their assembled party of a few dozen people twice over.

Of course, this had not happened by magic. An army of aunts and cousins had been helping Tony’s mom prepare for days. Clay had initially balked at her offer to cook for everyone. It seemed an undue burden in an already busy time. She had said it as soon as they set the date, decisively declaring she would do all the cooking. Clay had protested until Tony jabbed him in the ribs and took over, saying they’d love whatever she cooked. Later he explained that turning her down would be seen as an affront to her cooking.

Now, he was glad Tony had talked some sense into him. No catering company could have made food that looked and smelled as delicious as whatever Elena and her crew had conjured up. It reminded Clay how hungry he actually was, not having eaten since breakfast.

Cheers erupted from their assembled friends and family as they walked over, hand-in-hand, to the reception area. They both blushed and waved shyly, not used to all the attention. Everyone sat and looked at then expectantly. Clay and Tony shared a glance – were they expected to say something? Neither had planned to, but on reflection, Clay realized they maybe should have. He took one for the team and cleared his throat.

“Thanks for coming to celebrate with us, everyone. We would have done it just the two of us, if we had to, but I know I speak for Tony as well as myself when I say that we’re glad we didn’t have to do that and we have all of you here with us,” he said. He spoke from the heart, and he found that when he spoke from the heart, he didn’t falter or feel awkward. No one would fault him for saying what he truly felt.

His short thank-you seemed to break some kind of tension, unleashing a flurry of activity. His parents and Tony’s parents came up and engulfed them in hugs. Tony’s mom pulled them toward the food while she and her sister loaded up plates for them. Then Mariana, Tony’s sister, was ushering them to seats at a table on a small platform, where they would sit with their parents and oversee their party. Beers and shots of tequila appeared before them, likely set down by one of Tony’s brothers, who disappeared into the gathering. Chatter bubbled up as people lined up for food, for booze, said hello to people they hadn’t seen in a while.

He had lost touch with most everyone from high school, which made sense. They had graduated more than half a decade ago, had made other friends in college and through work, and just lost touch. He reflected briefly how strange it seemed, that when they were in the middle of everything, they thought they’d be friends with those people forever. But seven years on, people had moved away or dropped off the face of the earth. And he supposed that was how it ought to be. A person had to move on. There was nothing wrong with it.

His philosophical fugue ended as some friends came up to offer congratulations, some college friends he hadn’t seen in a while.

Then Tony’s brother Ricky was over by a table with a laptop on it and speakers on each side announcing that now everyone had had some food and booze, it was “time to party for real.” Clay, even after all the weddings, quinceneras, baptisms, and funerals he’d been to over the years, found slight anxiety creeping up his chest. Party for real? What exactly did Ricky think they wanted him to do up there? Horrible visions of Tony’s Abuelita breaking her hip trying to dance to EDM flittered through his mind.  

“Okay, to kick this off,” Ricky was saying, “let’s have the grooms up here for the ceremonial first dance. Now, I would have chosen something with a beat, but these sappy fools chose ‘I’ll Stand by You’ by The Pretenders. No accounting for taste. Anyway, get your dorky asses up here.”

Tony ditched his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and stood, hand out to Clay. He offered such a picture of easy beauty, a lived-in body, confidence. A swell of gratitude and wonderment bloomed in Clay’s chest. He got to spend his life with this man, wake up next to him, talk to him – every day. The prospect daunted him but did not deter him.

“May I have this dance?”

Clay felt a blush creep up his neck and cheeks, which in turn just made him feel embarrassed and thus more flushed. He cursed his English rose complexion. “You may.”

He stood and took Tony’s hand, let him lead to the small dance floor that had been set up under a canopy. They walked over and Ricky started up the song. What no one knew was that they had practiced in their living room so they didn’t just go up there and dance like a couple of middle schoolers.

Tony looked up and smiled, reached his hand up to squeeze the back of Clay’s neck. “You doing okay?”

“I’m more than okay,” he said. “You?”

“I’d say I’m doing…magnificent. Spectacular.”

Clay laughed and took his hand, kissed the hard knuckles. “Good. Here’s to many more spectacular, magnificent days.”


	4. Something Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay and Tony on their honeymoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my story! I hope you enjoy reading it, because I sure as heck enjoyed writing it. Smash that kudos button, or whatever people say to get people to like them on the internet. 
> 
> Fair warning: There is a classy love scene at the end, definitely not smutty, but they're definitely getting it on.

Something Blue

 

Tony would admit to himself – but never to Clay, as the place had been his choice – that his heart sank in slight disappointment as the car crunched up the gravel drive leading to the bed and breakfast where they would spend their honeymoon. The house and grounds were well-kept enough, the paint neat and clean, but the scalloped trim struck him as unnecessarily fussy and the rose bushes lining the porch seemed excessive in their…floralness. But that didn’t matter. This next week was about walks on the beach, hikes in the woods, good food, and his first days as someone’s husband.

No, not just someone. Clay. He was Clay’s husband and Clay was his. They had stood under a canopy in front of everyone they knew and they had sworn to love and protect each other for the rest of their lives. Emotion took hold and he twined his fingers with Clay’s as he eased the Mustang into a parking space.

“We’re married,” he said, unable to keep a wide and dopey grin off his face, despite the fact that he was about to spend his honeymoon in a coastal doll house. 

Clay matched his grin and replied, “Totally married.”

Tony leaned in for a kiss. He had been kissing Clay for years now, and it had almost seemed routine, until yesterday when it took on a new dimension. Those magic words from Skye had changed him, changed them, imbued their relationship with a new depth and purpose.

“This place seems…quaint,” Clay said, clearly a euphemism, much to Tony’s relief. “I guess we didn’t aim for hip, though, did we?”

“No,” he admitted with a breath of a chuckle. “We’d probably be disappointed right now if we had.”

Inside, the place was about what Tony had expected: floral wallpaper, cabinets with knick-knacks, a little lounge area filled to the brim with overstuffed pastel furniture and magazines that curled and crinkled at the edges. He would check, but he was sure it was some weird shit like doll collecting magazines or different types of yarn. But the staff was nice and congratulated them on their nuptials when Clay mentioned it was their honeymoon. Hardly hip, but he supposed the place lay in close enough proximity to San Francisco that they knew something about men honeymooning or whatever, though he and Clay couldn’t be called city folk in good conscience.

They climbed creaking stairs and headed to the end of the hall on the middle floor. There they found their accommodation for the next few days: a small suite with a sitting room, a bedroom, and a massive bathroom. The wallpapering was less aggressively floral in the room, with only one wall bearing the pastel emblems of geriatric class. The rest of the walls were painted pale blue, redolent of a pre-dawn seaside summer morning. The bathroom boasted a massive clawfoot tub that would fit both of them. The bed, like the rest of the furniture, had an overstuffed look to it, an insistent puffiness. Tony claimed the side closest to the door, leaving the window side for Clay, as was their arrangement at home and abroad.

Stretched on the bed, t-shirt riding up, he sank into the softness. It probably wouldn’t suit him every night, but after the last few days, letting a plush bed envelop him seemed as good a course of action as any. Clay ditched his shoes and flopped next to him. The silence rang out between them, something Tony had dearly missed. Between family everywhere and the rumble of his car as they drove, sound had sort of burrowed itself into his ears and its absence settled on him like a physical presence. He didn’t mind, though, and Clay – once so prone to filling every last space with sound and speech – had gained enough sense to let silence be silence on its own terms. Instead, he reached for Tony’s hand, which he readily gave, and they lay there in the stillness like that, fingers intertwined and arms touching.

Tony’s life stretched before him then in a swell, a clear path he never thought he would see. He had married the right guy, had a career, stayed in touch with his family, kept on the right side of the law, and had carved out his simple niche in this complex and terrifying world coming apart at the seams. But Tony Padilla was happy and almost carefree. His corner of the world shone with clean brightness, and the hand in his was there to walk with him.

He turned on his side, Clay following suit, and they stared at each other in something like wonder, or solidarity. Clay’s determined lips quirked into a private smile, imperceptible to most but as plain to Tony as if he had grinned. He brought their hands up, kissed Clay’s fingers, smiled back. Clay’s other hand came up and rested on Tony’s face, his palm warm and his fingers cool.

“We’re married,” Tony said, quiet and awed this time. 

“We’re married,” Clay repeated, similarly sobered.

“I never thought . . .” he drifted off. What had he never thought? He’d fall in love with someone like Clay, who hated all sports and seemed incapable of absorbing even basic information about cars? He didn’t know a Chevy from a Dodge, but he did know when Tony needed to spend an hour in the garage, mercilessly pummeling his punching bag before coming in for dinner. He knew how to nod silently and sip a beer while Tony’s dad lambasted the weakness of younger generations without muddying the waters with logic and trying to change the elder Mr. Padilla’s mind.

“I never thought, either,” Clay said. “Never thought I’d fall in love with anyone, let alone a guy. Never thought I’d feel peace. But here we are.”

“I’m scared,” Tony confessed, two words he wouldn’t say to anyone else except maybe his mom.

“Me too, a little. We should be scared. If we weren’t, we’d be . . . we’d be like meth heads who get together and think the other person is going to solve all their problems.”

“You’ve been watching old episodes of _Intervention_ again, haven’t you?”

Clay laughed. “Only the classics. But seriously, I’m okay being scared, because – I don’t know – because I’m scared with you. Or you’re scared with me. No matter what happens, we have each other’s backs. Even if we end up hating each other, we’ll still love each other.”

Tony kissed him, tenderly at first, and then with a ferocity he hadn’t managed since they first started dating. He put his hand in Clay’s hair and held him tight. When they parted, gasping for air, he whispered, “That didn’t make sense, but I know exactly what you mean.”

He did, too. They might not last forever. It was a possibility he had to acknowledge. He’d be stupid if he didn’t. But if they didn’t last forever, it wouldn’t be because of hatred or enmity. Tony knew that part of loving a person was respecting when they grew apart from you or diverged on their path. It was a willingness to watch them be sick, take care of them, do what needed doing to keep life pulsing along.

“Before I forget . . .” Clay said, maneuvering away enough to reach in his pocket. He pulled out a small foil baggie that Tony recognized from their local dispensary. Clay took out a small gummy and bit about a third off it, leaving the other two-thirds for Tony. Even now they had wildly different tolerance levels. Clay smirked and waggled his eyebrows before putting the THC-infused candy to Tony’s lips. He smiled back and took it, chewing it slowly to let it dissolve into sugary mush in his mouth before swallowing.

“Let’s get dinner while we wait for this to kick in.” Tony knew himself – he wouldn’t be able to comprehend a menu in forty-five minutes.

They were the youngest folks in the dining room by about three decades, by Tony’s estimation. Clay clearly noticed this as well, judging by the way he turned around as they entered and raised his eyebrows. Tony gently shoved him, reticent to laugh and draw attention, lest they look like kids who lost track of their parents.

Dinner passed by in easy conversation. The high crept up on them slowly, first for Tony a sense of drowsy peace and then a sense of drifting mirth. By dessert, each bite exploded into a slow wave of sensation.

They stumbled their way back to the room, laughing at each misstep. Once inside, they both looked directly at the bathroom.

“Tub,” Clay said.

“Hell yes.” Tony had his shirt off in a flash, jeans following suit, and Clay managed to disrobe while turning on the faucet. There was a small bottle of bubble bath and Clay poured the whole thing in.

They settled into the bath soon enough; with two grown men inside it, the water went a long way. Tony took one end, back against the raised tub, arms dangling over the side, and Clay mirrored the posture at the other end, maneuvering to avoid the tap. Their legs tangled together in the middle, limbs jumbled in such a way that only two people very comfortable with each other could accomplish. But high as he was, and immersed in warm, rose-scented water, he couldn’t find it in himself to mind. Clay took one of Tony’s feet and rubbed gently. Tony had a scar there from dropping a glass serving bowl on it at his mom’s house and Clay ran a finger along the jagged line, white against the brown skin.

“Up close,” Clay said, “this would look like a mountain range in the desert. It’s all about perspective.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed.

“You don’t think . . . I mean, it isn’t too late, I guess – or maybe it is – but anyway, should we have, like, gone to Europe or something for our honeymoon instead? Or New York?”

“I thought you wanted to avoid cities. And Europe, I don’t know man. I’m not a Europe kind of guy.”

“You’d like it. It’s not snobby or whatever. And, Tony, you act like you’re some kind of peasant, but you aren’t. You’re smart, and you’re cool—”

“Cooler than you.” Tony splashed him.

“Everyone’s cooler than me. But, like, you . . . you, man. You could totally travel the world. You respect other people, and that’s what matters. Maybe you wouldn’t want to eat snails or whatever, but you at least would have the good sense to decline politely,” Clay rambled on.

Tony shifted, the water sliding deliciously over his skin, his rough heel rasping over Clay’s soft thigh. Compliments made him uncomfortable. Clay was right, but still – hearing it left him with a sense of abashment. Humility to a fault was a Padilla trait, he guessed. His dad was certainly like that, and maybe that was where he got that sense of working class whatever that he had. His dad always told them they were simple people, and maybe he was wrong. What a terrible realization, Tony thought, to be stoned in a bath tub with his husband and to find his father lacking. The gold cross he had been given seemed to glow hot at these blasphemous thoughts.

“Maybe for our first anniversary,” he managed to say.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Clay said, squeezing Tony’s foot.

They lazed in silence until the water got cold and the bubbles turned to a pitiful floating foam, getting out after a time in peaceful silence, wrapping themselves in the massive, plush towels by the tub.

Clay finally noticed the cross necklace then, lifted it gently and let it rest on the pads of his fingers. “This is new.”

“Dad gave it to me.”

“It’s nice. Delicate. Might be awkward hitting me in the face when we – you know—”

“When we…?” Tony feigned an innocent expression.

“When we make love,” Clay said, drawing the word out.

“Knock boots?”

“Smash?”

“Get it on?”

“Dick each other down?”

“Sex each other up?”

They collapsed in a fit of giggles, damp skin sliding against damp skin, laughter ringing against the pale minty green tiles.

When the giggles subsided, Clay huffed out one final laugh patted Tony’s cheek before going into the bedroom and retrieving his small portable speaker. They set it up by the bed and Clay synced it to his phone.

“I made a playlist.”

“Good.” Tony flopped back on the bed, his high dragging him into listlessness. He and Clay didn’t always agree on music, but he trusted Clay enough not to try and convert him to whatever weird thing he was onto this week with a playlist on their honeymoon.

The first song was “I’ll Stand by You” and tears of happiness prickled Tony’s eyes. Always a favorite, now it had a new meaning.

He cleared his throat, knew it would probably break a little anyway, and carried on just the same. “I know it’s just a cheesy old song, but it really is how I feel.”

“Me too,” Clay said, His voice sounded far away and muted, so Tony pulled him close to make sure they both knew where the other was.

“And if you want to go to Europe someday—”

“Not someday,” Clay reminded him. “Next year.”

“Okay, next year. Anyway, I’ll go.”

“Good.”

His high began to crest, that creeping roller coaster feeling mounting deep inside him, and he relaxed into the mattress to let it wash over him. Clay did the same, both of them laying side by side and mostly inert, except for Clay’s thin fingers stroking Tony’s ear in just the way he liked.

“That feels nice,” he mumbled.

They lay there like that, eventually floating into sleep as the light outside went blue-gray with the coming summer night.

Tony awoke from their little nap first, propping himself on one elbow to look down at Clay, still asleep. His eyes moved under his pale eyelids, mouth twitching a little. Sleep, Tony had long ago noticed, melted away Clay’s tension that he seemed to carry with him everywhere. It softened his features and relaxed him, especially when he was high. Tony loved him all the more like this, knowing he deserved a break from the constant anxieties that plagued him in wakefulness.

Still a bit stoned, Tony turned off the lights in the bedroom and left the distant bathroom light on, spilling out in a friendly green-yellow glow like sunlight through trees. Clay’s playlist was still going strong on the speakers, something by The National that Tony couldn’t place.

He pulled a pair of boxer-briefs from his bag and slid them on before settling into an overstuffed chair by the window. The ocean spread out below the cliff on which this tiny gingerbread confection of a building stood, and Tony thought it such a contrast that the vastness of nature should be juxtaposed against this thoroughly man-made bubble.

Clay awoke amid this reverie, sitting up and stretching as he flickered back to consciousness.

“How long have you been up?”

Tony shrugged. “Not long.”

Clay wiggled his toes. “I’m still high.”

“Me too. But in a good way.”

Clay got up – naked – and went to where Tony sat, planting himself in his lap. He circled his arms around Tony’s neck and stroked the short, bristly hair at the nape of his neck.

“Well, it’s the first night of our honeymoon,” Clay said, matter-of-factly.

“It is,” Tony agreed.

“What should we do? See if they’re playing Canasta down in the dining room?”

Tony kissed the inside of Clay’s bicep. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Well, what about tonight? I’m not tired…” Clay wiggled his butt in Tony’s lap.

“Damn, you are a saucy little minx tonight.”

“We _are_ newlyweds,” Clay pointed out.

“True enough.”

Tony made a show of taking off the cross necklace and setting it on the windowsill. Clay grinned at him mischievously.

Tony thought that the only classification for what they did that night was “making love.” Such a horrible expression, but in the moment, he felt truly and thoroughly loved. It was slow and beautiful and deep, each of them having spent the past seven years learning one another’s bodies, likes, and dislikes. It was the kind of night Tony had dreamed of after lackluster encounters with the guys he dated before Clay. After it all, laying on their sides and facing each other, they huddled close under the covers and talked lazily about what to do the rest of their time there. How else better to begin a life together than to plan their time and touch each other? How else better to celebrate the life they were building together than to negotiate and agree on where to go for a walk along the beach and where to drive to for pictures? Tony couldn’t think of one and so he didn’t try. He just kept talking and touching.


End file.
